Parasite
by TheAzureFox
Summary: His nightmares protect him. The giant creature with the glowing orange eye that wraps around his wrists and devours everyone around him. He loves it. (AU, YusakuxIgnis. Unreliable narrator. Warning for suicide, body horror, and manipulation.)


His nightmares protect him.

This is all Yusaku knows.

They have since the beginning, since he was a kid.

He's not alone, he knows this.

He's never alone.

The creature of six wings and the single orange eye tells him so. The thing is massive, so giant and big and it has a long tail that wraps around his wrist and plunges into his bloodstream. They are one and the same and Yusaku loves it.

It protects him.

This, it tells him. The people who grow too close to him are evil. They are malevolent beings and will only seek to use him for their own good.

That is why his nightmares eat them. Because they are dreams that should never exist. They are not the nice people they pretend to be. They are angels that will open their mouths full of sharp teeth and raze him to the ground with their gleaming eyes and beaming smiles.

The creature is kind and loving. It rubs its head against his cheek, presses itself against his chest and gurgles with a kind of love that can never be understood by the filth around him. It's only concern is for him. It knows nothing else but him, can talk about nothing else but _him_. To it, Yusaku is the only thing that matters. To it, everything else is the trash that deserves to be eaten alive. Those who try to tell him otherwise are liars, liars, with their pants on fire.

Yusaku doesn't think much of it. He and his creature are the only things that are meant to exist in this world. They are of the same mesh, the same fabric, and the part of Ignis that injects itself into him is proof of that. A long thin thread of black treads its way down his veins and up into his heart. Black strings reveal themselves from the layers underneath his skin crawling and wiggling like worms. Lines of black spread out like roots all over his body and, to be honest, he's fine with it. To be a part of such a magnificent deity is to be honored. To be adored by such a nightmarish creature is to know love.

Often, when it's too cold for him and the chill of the world seeps into his skin, his monster (but, no, it's not just a monster. Never that. It's always something _more,_ something _better_ ) coils around him and blankets him in its inky darkness. And, when he's too hot it's like his little umbrella, casting him under a shadow when the concrete beneath his feet begins to melt and the world around him burns to ash.

The world tiptoes around them, uncertain and unsure of their bond like it's the most strangest thing in existence.

It's not. Truly, it's not. Yusaku loves Ignis and Ignis loves him. There is no other way around it. There's no denying the way they tease each other back and forth, the way Ignis laughs and chuffs and giggles and Yusaku merely rolls his eyes as the creature sets off to devour yet another interloper. Ignis is loving, like a parent, a teacher, a friend and, perhaps best of all, the sole entity in the entire world who loves him just as much as he loves it.

Love.

Such an interesting concept.

How true.

Death.

So weird.

How false.

Immortality.

Yusaku's tumbles off skyscrapers, sits under the wheels of moving cars, puts a gun next to his head and sets it off. He lights himself on fire, watches as knives stab into him, impales himself with a pole. There's electrocution, suffocation, overdosing and the explosion of a bomb.

It's no use. He doesn't feel a thing. Black sludge drips from wounds, vomits its way up his mouth and splashes upon the ground. His body goes splat but goes from flat to round and he's whole again. His nightmares wrap around him, cradle him, fuss and fret and worry and he loves it. So soothing, so comforting, so feeling. It nuzzles and clucks and giggles at him like the ink that stains his lips is something to make fun of. It kisses him and caresses him and fawns over him, its roots wiggling inside of him as it.

He dances with it, spins and swirls and the thing around his arm twists into a tornado that whirls around him. Wind brushes his cheeks and the creature cackles and caws and he is encouraged by its banter to dance and dance and dance and he doesn't feel a thing.

Does he? Doesn't he? Aren't his feet swelling? Aren't his feet scraping into rocks, bleeding and blistering and blazing with pain? Aren't his arms tired in this position? Don't his legs want to give out and collapse beneath him. The threads of black pulse and he knows it is them because he can feel them crawling like worms throughout his body. Forever and ever he dances and dances because there is no end to such a thing. Not unless Ignis tells him otherwise and Ignis will not because Ignis wants it to continue until there no more continuing.

Eternity moves on and he is in endless cycle of dancing. There are spectators, bloodied bodies whose heads roll in their hands and who look with horrified awe. Ignis laughs and laughs and the world is of ash and fire and Yusaku dances. Forever spinning, forever moving.

Immortal.

He's immortal.

The sickening crunch of bones. Splattered ink and twisted limbs. Vomit and nausea and numbness. Glazed eyes and a limp body and death and despair.

It's back to normal.

Forever.

Never ending.

A cycle.

It's a cycle.

One.

They are one.

Only one and never two.

The nightmare and its creation.

The nightmare and its lover.

The nightmare that chases away his evil dreams.

It is there for him.

Always.

It is his meaning, his purpose, _his very identity._ How could he live without it?

The answer is: he can't.

They are one, not two. Lovers, partners, forever intertwined because how could Yusaku not be intertwined with the thing that makes up his life?

He knows this.

Because he is the host.

And, his nightmares are the parasite that has taken everything he loves.

Okay so apparently this story is cursed. On A03 it became double-posted and on it became a bunch of useless letters numbers and symbols. Rip


End file.
